The Wake

Sentimental paraphernalia had disconcerting implications in post-humanist society. Remnants were lifetimes old and ensconced in layers of obscurity. One could puzzle for hours over such an object and acquire no discernment as to its utility, and for that most preferred not to bother. In this world, children matured with no exposure to the nuanced themes of human life – of expression and impression; art and legacy. To be more specific: creativity, curiosity, aesthetic and spontaneity. Emotional intelligence, willpower, empathy, you name it. The innate nature of the human mind had been collectively forgotten, as science and philosophy converged on a rigid ontology that had come to define all known phenomena. Emotions had become a matter of semantics, of superfluity and superficiality, and had no intrinsic value whatsoever.

The dogma was as beautiful as it was utopian, and it may have worked in a perfect world. But our world is not perfect, and nor is any that consists of life. An older neologism, “utopia” is an amalgamation of two Latin words which, put together, mean “nowhere”, so this observation is meant literally. The abandonment of pragmatism in pursuit of logical purism, and the subsequent application of such an ignorant rhetoric to human society was the ultimate failure of logic, and perhaps the greatest irony of all, had it been worth its grave cost.

An old man, my closest companion, known only as “Red”, led a movement that challenged our world’s apathetic state of affairs, and questioned the credibility of our greatest theories, despite their roots in first-order logic. Unlike the countless cliché parables of rebels and revolutions in totalitarian states, nobody stood in his way. His ideas did not provoke anyone but hardcore scientific purists. Governments, schools and research institutions around the world embraced the movement, because it was so… fascinating. Red’s call to action spurred the hearts of billions. Age-old etiquette transformed overnight as people were encouraged to make reacquaintance with the romantic notions of old and unleash the creative luminance of their own minds. This ideology was named chaoticism, based not on the negative general definition of the word but of the one used in physics and mathematics.

The unpredictable nature of a complex system, from which subtle differences are amplified to fantastical proportions.

I have done my best to recount Red’s story, from my time by his side, and through the eyes of other close friends. Yes, his ideology was well received by all. But every story has conflict. There were many, and none were predicted. This is that story.

For my dear companion, it all began with death. Red was an ordinary man, and lived a modest, humble life. Married forty-two years, he loved his wife each and every day, with that rare love whose intensity never falters. Little else is relevant, except that he was widowed abruptly, on a day as ordinary as himself. That morning, he woke, and turned to face his darling. But she was already gone. The dreadful sensation of her cold face in his palms skin froze him in place as he came to terms. She had died in her sleep.

The evaluation program failed to identify cause. This was unheard of. Red’s wife had perfect health and hygiene, like most. Medical science had made huge leaps since humanism and had been integrated into the ontology like all else. Cancer, dementia and cardiovascular disorder were trivial issues, if intercepted within the appropriate timeframe. Something like this should have never happened without explanation. Red’s sudden loss was an outlier in a framework that was supposed to account for everything that possibly could happen. A framework operating somewhere in the indeterministic quantum fuzziness between Murphy’s Law and Laplace’s Demon. His heart broke as he juxtaposed random tragedy with a world built on causality.

Our friend Red was inconsolable. Not only was it a tragic loss, but it was unfair and unexplainable, and thus seeded a deep, vile anger. He screamed for hours, as his neighbours tell me, with a word that painted a thousand pictures.

“Why?”

As you might have expected, funeral tradition had been reduced to its bones, and Red was not happy with his options. He gave his soulmate a proper burial, as per her wishes. It was likely not per her wishes to be buried in her own backyard, but Red was too distraught to imagine being too far away, from even the shell of the woman that he loved.

It was on that same day that the one-man ceremony would be undertaken, after the selection of a rich oak burial container and old white dress. It took four hours to dig the grave, which he positioned near an orange tree they had once planted together.

His work was slow, interrupted by tears. He plunged his shovel into the darkening earth again and again, flicking rocky subsoil carelessly over his shoulder. In and out, in and out, he hacked away. Gravel, grief, and grit. Again and again, he did this, on nonexistent reserves of energy. And again, he brought his shovel up, until something caught his eye. Laced around the shovel’s neck was a thin golden chain, on which hung the strangest object he had ever seen. It was a small metal container, one inch in diameter, whose gold coating had faded into a matted brown hue. Most notably was its shape: an outline of two curved arcs, like a child’s drawing of a dove, whose opposite ends curled back towards each other and came to a point below. Triangular, with smooth, rounded edges. Completely transfixed, Red was distracted for the first time that day. And more, he found the latch on its outside edge and used his fingernails to pry the container open like a book. Inside sat a 3D image of a beautiful woman, smiling in the light of the sun, with warm brown skin, and long black hair, and a small tattoo at the bottom center of her neck that, quite strangely, had the same shape as the container itself. She wore a fine silver necklace, and an elegant red satin dress that showcased her neckline and shoulders. He had never seen such a saturated image before. He never said it, but this was likely the inspiration for his famous alias.

Nobody alive had experienced curiosity before that moment. Sentimental paraphernalia such as this object wasted away in forgotten wings of storage facilities, had they not already been incinerated. Most were disenchanted with such items and what they represented. Nobody cared because nobody needed to. It was pointless.

Red described his newfound sensation as both immoral and invigorating, as his mind traversed uncharted waters. Latent curiosity gasped for air as it broke the surface tension of his conscious. Was there an assumption being made about causality? Was there more? The unified theory of epistemology put forth an impressive semantic network for universal reference, on a foundation of objective definitions and axioms. It had become so familiar to the human mind that very rarely did anyone traipse outside its expansive bounds. Not only did Red do this, but he built another framework entirely. He saw sequences outside the known network that still had utility! The entire ontology was challenged on the grounds of relativism. Truth itself was up for grabs.

Younger readers may wonder why such a revolution wasn’t obvious to all. Today, we can say with confidence that confidence (in facts) is not the way to go, and so I see how hard it may be, for those who did not experience this old world, to conceive of it. I can proffer some explanation:

If you have been told for your entire life to do things a certain way, and you truly believe it is the “best way”, then your brain, no matter how elastic, is going to do that for you, because you simply do not know any better. And if what you are told to do is to always dismiss new ideas, because every truth has already been discovered, then your analytical left brain is going to swiftly suffocate the creative right. Played out over centuries, this depressing behavior evolves neurologically. Physically. Neuroplasticity can be used for all the wrong reasons.

Eventually, the human mind had become an analytical machine, and differed so slightly from the next. It would take an incredibly unlikely and unreasonable series of events to exact change. This is exactly what happened to Red. The inextricable tragedy of his wife's death and the discovery of a bizarre artifact provoked alien feelings inside of him. It was a perfect combination – tragedy without causality, and beauty without effect, the latter of which he experienced only because of the first – that led him to realize that there might be more to the world. Much like the ancient locket that he dug out of the ground, Red had rediscovered what it meant to be human.

Red spent days thinking about his new locket. It was a temporary distraction from an overwhelming sense of grief that, unfortunately, never left. Eventually, my friend resolved, with a strange sense of synchronicity, that to honor his late love, he must live his life professing his new idea, and the romantic notions that had so effortlessly opened his eyes.

Red’s wife had many friends and family members, but none had heard of a wake. Nonetheless he arranged one and most came. It was there that he first spoke about the locket. He passed it amongst attendees and talked about what he thought it meant. The atmosphere turned to confusion, but those closer to the death were moved.

“I’ve never heard anything like it…” remarked his father-in-law, “it’s incredible how he could even conceive of such a notion!”

And his wife: “But it makes sense, no? I can’t explain it, but it just… it resonates with me.”

His son, who was studying anthropology, spoke up. “It’s strange, because you see this behavior since antiquity, but we’ve since discarded of them. It’s too confusing… or taunting. They’re not in the ontology at all.”

His uncle made the typical inference “So, they have no use?”

“I don’t know… I think the question of utility is irrelevant. You’d be missing the point entirely.”

“Oh.”

And on the conversation went, as did many like it, as word spread of Red and his ideas. He was asked to visit the homes of strangers to speak and often left with a full stomach. For the first time in centuries, a craze was taking the world by storm. Art, song, story and dance filled the air and crossed the oceans and before long, the world was beating to the rhythm of new sensations, good vibrations, a heart full of love. Unique feats of creativity and newfound talents were appealing to all. Social surveys rendered researchers both baffled and bemused. It was chaos.

Love and expression flooded grayscale capillaries. Ultimately, Red’s philosophy changed everything. It seemed the practice of creativity and curiosity instilled a deep sense of empathy, as people began to visualize the pains and joys of others. People were rediscovering their innate ability to feel what is felt by another, as strongly as if it were their own. And then darkness.

Red discovered another truth about the spirit in his travels: it had a limit. The world had ignored empathy, and so humans had come to lose their own emotional resilience. When one carries too heavy a burden, their spirit breaks. The unrestrained flow of empathy is dangerous. Because they could not control it, millions grew tired, depressed, and angry, their hearts filled with the turmoil of others. For many, failure of their emotional stamina to take on the persistent experience of empathy marked the end of the road.

As it turns out, the only obstacle to chaoticism was the individual. Depression, anxiety, shame, anger and grief overwhelmed the hearts of millions.

Exactly one year after his discovery of the locket, my best friend sat six feet above his wife, bid our sun farewell, and killed himself.